Page 31 of Reaching Hearts
Mario calls over, “Brendan, you’re not leaving are you? The main course hasn’t come yet!”
“Rebecca wants a cigarette,” Brendan calls back.
I blink from him to the group, horrified. I don’t smoke. I don’t want these people thinking I do.
One of the women looks up, “Can I bum one off you?”
“Um…”
He calls out to her, “No. They’re bad for you. You stay put.”
She sinks down in her chair. “Rude!”
He takes my hand and leads me out as I say quietly so as not to make a scene, “Brendan, I’m not sure what you think you’re trying to pull, but I’m not ready to go. I really have to eat something substantial.”
He doesn’t answer me, but turns left, toward the restrooms. My eyes dart to the right, where the exit is. What is he doing? As soon as we turn the corner, he pushes me against a wall, his mouth on mine. Tucked away from the crowd, we make out, our hands everywhere. I’m stunned, but going with it because it’s obvious Tommy has a way of bringing Brendan and I closer together and hallelujah for that. Gasping for air when he releases me, I watch as he backs away and looks at me from behind a wolf-stare. A memory of the first time I kissed him against the tree, with the ocean crashing below us, hits me. The man I see before me is not the boy I saw then. This man is a master of his own world. He wants things his way.
And not for a second will he let me believe I can flirt with his friends and have that be okay with him. Not ever.
I bring my fingers up to my lips as he turns and walks around the corner. He brings up his arm and wipes lipstick from his mouth on it, and vanishes from sight.
Breathless, I push open the door to the ladies room. I see my face and know instantly why he said to bring my purse. My lipstick is blurred and my eyes are sultry and ready for more kissing. He knew I’d need a second to gather myself. That’s how confident this cocky bastard is. Look at my face! He is incredible.
As I reapply my lips, I realize that no matter how much younger than me Brendan is – he holds all the power in this relationship. I tuck the stick back in my purse and straighten my neck, hold it high, and go back to join him. I don’t know if this will ever be more than what it is, but I’ve seen glimmers that things are shifting, that he really cares. I just have to be patient.
* * *
Present Day. I’m not leaving without a fight.
Walking by the hood of my Range Rover are two women – one, early twenties and wearing a bohemian-style dress under a jacket with fringe on the bottom. The other - early to mid thirties - has on a zipped-up cropped leather jacket, short boots and skinny jeans. And in the younger one’s hands is something I recognize instantly as my ticket out of this mess.
I fly out of my car. “Excuse me!”
They both turn and stop walking. The hospital looms large behind them. “Yes,” the older one says, scanning me boldly.
I point. “Is that Brendan Clark’s jacket?”
The both exchange a look before they nod.
“And you are?” the older one asks. They must be friends of Annie’s because he told me he left that jacket at the bar. Did she talk to them yet? Do they know he and I aren’t together?
I take a leap, and give them my best icy, authoritative stare as I cross to take it from the younger one’s reluctant clutches. “I’m his girlfriend. Rebecca Wells. I’ll take that to him, thank you.”
She lets it go, but she’s deflated. “Sure. No problem. We were just going to see if he’s okay.”
The older one stares at me. I can see from her face she wishes she could take the jacket back, but knows that’s impossible. Both my hands hold it tightly like they could lunge for it if I’m not careful. “He’s fine. I was just leaving to get him some things from his apartment. I’ll give this to him when I return.” I turn back to my S.U.V. “Have a nice day.”
“You too,” they both say, at the same time in varying volumes.
I don’t look back. As soon as I’m in my car, I turn it on, darting my eyes to watch them walk into the hospital. They’re probably going to visit her, not him, the little liars.
Reversing out of my parking spot, I drive quickly out of the lot, searching his pockets for his phone as I go. Pulling it out, I turn it on and hit the password I’ve seen him type in a zillion times. I never thought I’d need to use it, and it flashes through my mind that I am being crazy. But I don’t fucking care. I haven’t spent the last three years of my life being patient just to lose him to some girl in a pigtail and fucking freckles. And I sure as shit didn’t drive all the way from Arizona to have her walk over from two doors down and upend everything I’ve worked for with just a wave of her ass.
At a stop light, safely out of range of the hospital, I search his phone book and find the name I’m looking for. Hitting the number, I hold the phone to my ear, and put the pedal to the gas.
“Well this is a surprise,” a sick voice says.
“Tommy?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Who’s this?”
I take a deep breath and change lanes to get out from behind a slow moving sedan. “It’s Rebecca. Can I come see you?”
I wait for him to answer, thinking to myself, This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.